


Go Home and Get Clean

by mistrali



Series: Harry Potter, Canon Divergences [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Mentor Severus Snape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-10-30 05:39:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17822921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistrali/pseuds/mistrali
Summary: After Quirrell, it isn’t Dumbledore sitting by his bedside.Harry must face up to the consequences of his actions after PS.Eventual Mentor!Snape





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this contains violence done by a child (as in canon).
> 
> In this version, both Harry and Severus are slightly more reasonable than in canon. Neither of them baits the other quite as much.
> 
> I also assume a Harry who is slightly more damaged by his upbringing, not to mention the trauma with Quirrell, than we see in much of the later canon.
> 
> All credit to the people at DTCL (LiveJournal) for the plotbunny, and for examining this series in far greater detail, and more eloquently, than I ever could. Specifically, this essay by terri_testing: https://deathtocapslock.livejournal.com/223305.html
> 
> Title from Lorde.

Harry opened his eyes. He was in the hospital wing. Across from him was —

“Professor Snape,” he croaked. From this angle, his Potions Professor’s nose looked more like a beak than ever.

“Well fought, Potter,” said Snape. Harry gaped at him. There was no hint of a sneer on his face, or in his voice.

“Thanks,” said Harry. Then, feeling that this was inadequate, he added, “That was a seriously cool puzzle. Sir.”

Snape’s lips tightened. “That a group of first years could solve it does me no credit. Still -“ and the sneer was back now - “better than Devil’s Snare. The Headmaster has asked me here to train you in the arts of the mind,” he went on, looking as though he would rather be eating frogspawn. “We will begin after your first Potions class next year.”

Harry watched him, silently, through chattering teeth. What did that mean, the arts of the mind? Was it like Dark Arts? Or extra lessons and more puzzles, like Terry Boot said they had in the Ravenclaw common room? He opened his mouth to ask Snape, but closed it again. Aunt Petunia hated it when he asked questions, and maybe Snape wouldn’t be much better.

Instead he said, “Yes, sir,” and found himself yawning hugely.

Snape seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking about. He glanced down and gave a casual flick of his wand, and Harry’s bed grew warmer; a woollen blanket appeared on top of him. Startled, Harry unclenched his hands from his sheets, but kept them wrapped around the blanket in case Snape tried to take it away.

Then Snape did something even more surprising - he conjured a napkin, a spoon, some soup, a plate of fish and a bowl of rice pudding, sprinkled with raisins. Harry sniffed it appreciatively - Dudley hated rice pudding, so Harry had got the chance to have some of his leftovers from a restaurant once. It smelled like the vanilla essence Aunt Petunia used for Dudley’s birthday cakes.

Then he remembered who he was talking to. What if Snape had put something in it?

“Potter,” said Snape, when Harry made no move to touch it. “Your encounter with Quirrell has drained you of a great deal of magic. You need to eat.” He paused, and then added, “I assure you, if I wish to poison you, I will do so in the privacy of our lessons together.” 

Harry had no idea what that meant. With a mental shrug, he lifted the spoon to his mouth and wolfed down the pudding. He caught Snape’s eye and hastily looked down at his tray again.

“Slowly, Potter, or you’ll make yourself sick,” said Snape. “And your napkin goes on your shirt.” He looked faintly disgusted. “Weren’t you taught table manners at home?” 

Abashed, Harry forced himself to eat more slowly, like a normal person. He _had_ been sick, the first night at Hogwarts, after stuffing himself on five courses.

“Potter.” Snape’s voice was icy, this time. “I expect an answer when I speak to you.”

“Sort of, sir,” said Harry, in the same tone he used when Uncle Vernon kept at him about mowing the lawn. He knew how to eat with a knife and fork, and set the table and stuff, but the Dursleys had never used napkins. If Dudley talked with his mouth full, Aunt Petunia cooed that he was a growing boy and needed his nourishment.

“‘Sort of’ is not an acceptable answer in my classes, Potter. It is the mark of an imprecise mind —“ 

Harry glanced up. “We’re not in your class, sir,” he pointed out, so calmly he was surprised at himself. 

“Do not interrupt me.”

Jet-black eyes stared into Harry’s, and Snape was silent for such a long time that the hair rose on Harry’s arms. 

Finally Harry broke away and mumbled, “The Dursleys did sort of teach me table manners. But... I... er, never eat with them. I’m usually upstairs, in my - room.” He snapped his mouth shut, horrified. He’d almost said ‘cupboard’, out of habit, although he had a room now. Even he knew it wasn’t normal to live in a cupboard; other, non-freakish kids had rooms of their own.

“Playing the latest computer games, I suppose?” asked Snape, with a nasty note in his voice that Harry couldn’t interpret.

Harry shrugged. “Not really,” he said, wondering why he was bothering to give Snape more ammunition. “Those are for Dudley, my cousin.”

“Oh?” said Snape, softly this time. “And what do you do for fun, Potter? Since studying is obviously out of the question, am I to assume you wreak havoc on the streets with your little friends in your spare time?”

Harry felt a blush creeping up his face. Dudley had beaten up anyone who tried to make friends with him. “No, Professor,” he managed. “I just sit in my room and... er...” Bloody hell, what did normal Muggle kids do for fun? “Watch football,” he said quickly, thinking of Dean’s West Ham posters. “It’s a sport,” he added, by way of explanation. Snape wouldn’t know much about Muggle sports.

Snape gave him another long stare, but seemed satisfied with that answer. Now that he’d finished interrogating Harry, he seemed to want to study him like a specimen in his dungeon. 

It was creepy, if you asked Harry. He didn’t like the way the man’s eyes had lingered on him, as if he could see right into his head.

Suddenly, something occurred to him; he could have cursed himself for not thinking of it earlier.

“What happened to Voldemort? And Professor Quirrell?” he blurted out, unable to help himself. If Snape gave him detention for impertinence, so be it.

A sigh from Snape. Then he moved his chair closer to Harry. “Unfortunately I must be the bearer of bad news. Professor Quirrell is gravely injured, Mr Potter. The Dark Lord fled, because he could not endure what passed in that room.”

Harry dropped his spoon, the tomato soup acid-sharp in the back of his throat. “Injured?” he heard himself ask, as though from far away. “I need to see him. Please, sir.”

Snape shook his head. “That would not be wise,” he said, as gentle as Harry had ever heard him. “The effects of possession by the Dark Lord are... lasting.”

”Lasting? You mean he won’t get better?” asked Harry huskily. A lump was building in his throat. Even though Quirrell had been possessed by Voldemort for a year, Harry hadn’t wanted to put him in a coma, it sounded like.

The look Snape was giving him spoke volumes. “This is a war, Potter,” said Snape. “People are going to die, and you will have to kill some of them.” His voice was so matter of fact that Harry got the shivers all over again. “You are too young to have to face such choices, but... perhaps not too young to have to face the consequences.”

Harry ducked under the blanket, the better to escape Snape’s pitiless gaze. “Will I be expelled?” he whispered. The sobs were coming hard and fast now, and Harry let them. He thought of the dank, lightless cells he’d seen in films sometimes, where there were burly tattooed blokes who were only allowed an hour of daylight. Maybe wizarding jail wouldn’t be so bad. It might be better than his cupboard, anyway.

“Potter. You will not be expelled.” 

“How the hell would you know?!” shrieked Harry, from the dubious safety of his blanket. His heart was galloping along as though it would burst out of his chest, and he tried and tried to catch his breath, and all the while he heard himself wailing — long, terrible gasps of air.  
Then someone was reaching inside his blanket and brushing cool liquid against his skin, against his lips...

He lay back down and smiled despite himself - he was so pleasantly warm now, and even Snape was bearable... droning on about protection and shields.... he really had a soothing voice, when he wasn’t being a git....


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In canon, the teachers know that the Stone is at Hogwarts. To me, it’s more logical to believe they would have had it under the equivalent of bulletproof glass had they known. Not something like Devil’s Snare, which first years learn about and a qualified Defence teacher can easily bypass.
> 
> In this AU, Snape only learns about it after Harry’s encounter with Quirrelmort.

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Please find below your invitation to a panel meeting concerning your ward Mr Harry James Potter and his use of advanced magic to grievously injure Professor Quirinus Quirrell, former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

By signing this letter, you agree that you, or your authorised representative, are fully aware of the allegations that have been leveled against your ward, and are prepared to defend them to the fullest. 

The meeting will take place in Meeting Room 10, this July 20th. All children must be accompanied by their legal guardian or an authorised proxy, who may bring along an additional witness or support person. If you do not choose to have a solicitor present, the DMLE will provide one at a nominal fee. 

Please enclose your answer by return owl. Should you have further queries, they may be addressed to the DMLE’s Correspondence branch.

Yours sincerely,  
Reginald Cattermole, The Department of Magical Law Enforcement (Juvenile Justice Division), Ministry of Magic 

***********

“Ah, Severus. Sit down, my dear boy,” said Dumbledore. “Poppy tells me Harry was distraught yesterday. What have you told him?”

“The truth,” said Severus, ignoring both Albus’ proffered Fudge Fly and the chair Minerva pushed back for him. “Would you have had me lie to the child?”

“Let me be more accurate,” said Albus, his eyes grave. “How did you choose to impart this information?”

Severus grimaced and checked his occluding - the man didn’t need Legilimency to read his mind, clearly. “I had not realised how delicate his state of mind was,” he admitted. “I was... harsher with him than I had a right to be.” 

“What do you mean, delicate?” asked Minerva tartly. “Albus, would you care to explain what is going on?”

“Calm yourself, Minerva,” said Albus heavily. “I am afraid that during his travels, Quirinus was possessed by Voldemort, who has returned to power. 

I foolishly thought the Stone would be safer at Hogwarts — as, indeed, it was for a time, until Voldemort inveigled it out of Hagrid, knowing his weakness for liquor. When Harry and his friends tried to rescue the Philosopher’s Stone, Harry ran afoul of Voldemort, and injured Quirinus in the process. Both he and Quirinus have been much the worse for wear since the end of term.“

There was a long silence.

“Are you telling me,” said Minerva, in a low, ominous burr, “that this school has been harbouring both Lord Voldemort and the Stone for the last year? And that he has been threatening my students?” 

If she’d been a lioness, her hackles might have been up. In response, four or five of the little silver instruments on Albus’ desk began to whirr. 

“The Headmaster would like me to teach Potter Occlumency,” said Snape smoothly, before she could turn the full force of her ire on Albus. He itched to give his employer a piece of his mind, but they had to get Potter through the hearing, first.

“I went to visit him yesterday. He and the Dark Lord appear to have a... a unique connection, Minerva.”

She clutched the arm of her chair. “Connection?” she said, in a remarkably steady voice. “Dear Merlin, Severus, what is the meaning of this? Is Potter... is he...”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Severus coldly. “The boy is half dead, but he is not possessed. The Dark Lord could not have touched him without suffering pain.” If it turned out to be due to the power of so-called blood protection, as Albus was so fond of insisting, Severus would eat his cauldron.

“Oh, Merlin,” Minerva breathed.  
She closed her eyes, then went on, “Potter told me he thought someone was trying to steal the Stone. I thought it was safely at Gringotts. When I asked how he knew about it, he refused to tell me.” She put her face in her hands. “And then, as happens, I was caught up with seventh-year NEWT trials, and paperwork...” Severus barely suppressed a snort. He, too, had six year groups to teach and House duties besides, but he had found time to perform a basic alarm spell on Potter, and to dispatch a couple of sixth-years to teach his class if it should go off during Potions.

“That is my fault,” said Dumbledore, with a swift glance at Severus. Incensed, he held his tongue: airing his feelings about stone-blind Gryffindor Prefects, lack of House cohesion and idiotic first-years was unlikely to be productive.

“I was remiss in allowing Harry access to certain... advantages which facilitated his finding and recovering the Stone.” Albus sighed. “As a consequence, I have received a letter from the DMLE concerning Harry’s use of magic against Voldemort — that is, Quirinus. He is to have a hearing in July.”

What had he expected, Firewhisky and a box of Honeydukes’ Finest? But Severus stayed silent; anything he said, Albus would twist against him, in favour of his damned Gryffindors and his grand plans within plans.

“Our saving grace,” continued Albus, “is Harry‘s youth and the fact that he was acting in self defence. The court will take that into account, no doubt.”

Minerva, of course, nodded, her hand at her mouth. Severus shook his head. His colleagues’ faith in the law persisted despite the farce Cornelius Fudge called a justice system. Even Dumbledore admitted to sentiment where the law was concerned.

Self-defence and Potter’s celebrity status were a lot to gamble a child’s future on, for a man who made his living from children’s welfare. He wondered whether the headmaster would use his influence at the Wizengamot to brush things under the carpet.

He would also be very interested to know how, and why, the old man had “helped” Potter and his scapegrace friends to recover a priceless magical artifact. He and Minerva had poured all the magic they knew into their parts of the obstacle course, up to and including resistance to common spells such as Flame-Freezing Charms and Transfiguration - but that had been in January, before they had learned that the object in question was a dangerous magical artefact. They had all assumed, moreover, that it would waylay errant students. It would have slowed, not halted, the progress of a fully grown wizard, still less a qualified Defence instructor. They had trusted to Dumbledore’s “additional protections”, which had come up wanting. Himself included -he should have incapacitated Quirrell when he had the chance, but his former master had been too cunning to reveal himself. Something of The Dark Lord still remained, then, in that red-eyed bone-white creature which Dumbledore had described to him. It was a far cry from confident Tom Riddle, campaigning for blood purity with such fervour, silver-tongued and lithe, in the full flush of his youth. Severus wondered, for a mad moment, if he himself would have consented, at sixteen, to serve Voldemort as he was now. 

“Severus,” Albus was saying. “You will need to prepare Harry for the meeting, and arrange further magical Defence training. It must be you, not Minerva, for Harry needs to be able to Occlude, and Defence is rather Severus’ forte,” he said, with an apologetic look at Minerva.

“If I may, Headmaster,” said Minerva, in clear tones. “I will assist with guiding Potter in the arts of Light Magic and battle magic. I do not pretend to match Albus where duelling is concerned, but my command of offensive spells is sufficient for Potter’s purposes. And, what is more -“ she paused, and glanced Severus’ way. “I believe that we could all stand to learn valuable lessons from Slytherin in house unity. Each week, I will organise Gryffindor house meetings and take suggestions for cooperative inter-house activities. I won’t have it said that Gryffindor is promoting house divisions.”

Touched, Severus bowed his head in thanks. Minerva had never been one for petty inter-house rivalries - except when it came to Quidditch, he noted dryly, which infected three-quarters of the school with temporary madness.


End file.
